


I Wanted the Blue Right Above Your Head

by Eris (dwarrowkings)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Crowley has a mermaid tail, F/F, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Hair Washing, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/Eris
Summary: Ineffable wives get into ineffable hijinks - Crowley manifests an entire mermaid tail and gets stuck in the bath. Aziraphale washes her hair.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: MFU Palentine's Day Exchange





	I Wanted the Blue Right Above Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassieoh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassieoh/gifts).



> I have a big ol thanks to my forevergirl [sosobriquet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sosobriquet/pseuds/sosobriquet) and Dee, whose AO3/tumblr, I do not have for beta'ing! Y'all are great.

Crowley is still in the bath. Aziraphale can hear that much from the front door. Their cottage in the South Downs has a large bathroom, filled with bits and bobs that Crowley has collected in the short time they’ve been there. Firstly there’s the tub, an old, deep, claw-foot where Crowley loves to lounge. Then there’s the towels - huge fluffy things that she knows Crowley bought piecemeal, but somehow seem like a matched set. Then there’s the plants - the bathroom is where Crowley keeps the plants that need more moisture. Crowley likes to claim that her frequent baths are for her plants. It’s not as if she needs a bath all that often, anyway.

For the most part, the bodies assigned to them are human, but some of the specifics are lost when it comes to celestial (and demonic) expectations. Or lack thereof. Meaning that Crowley is rather like a good pair of trousers. If they don’t get covered in sauce, then washing is wholly unnecessary. For cleaning purposes. 

Crowley, however, often bathes for pleasure, which suits Aziraphale perfectly. Crowley comes out of the bath smelling of rose water, slightly damp, and lounges around air drying for hours until Aziraphale can’t take it any longer.

Aziraphale is not one to complain about the miles of soft, milky skin spread out on their sheets, even though it leaves the sheets slightly damp after. They would have ended up like that one way or another. 

Aziraphale bustles the groceries away while humming to herself. The cabinets could refill on their own but then the little old ladies in the cafe next to the shop would have no one to ease the pain in their joints and give them a juicy bit of gossip. Today it had been Imelda’s hip giving her trouble, and the gossip had been about her and Greta’s husband. Greta had blushed prettily for a 70 year old woman and Imelda had smiled and held her hand the whole time. It was so nice to see people being happy together. 

“Angel, is that you?” Crowley calls. A splash. 

“Yes, dear! Just back from the shops.” Aziraphale steps into the hallway, slightly suspicious. Crowley had been in the bath two hours ago, surely there wasn’t something wrong? Another splash. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine!” Crowley says entirely too fast to be believable. Aziraphale takes two steps towards the bathroom, heels clicking on the hardwood of the hallway. “No, really, angel! No need to --” Crowley stops abruptly when Aziraphale opens the door. For half a second the scene seems normal. Aziraphale takes in Crowley’s hunched shoulders, the underwater hand wringing. That’s the normal part. 

What isn’t normal, is the rest of it: the smooth grey skin that starts at the curve of Crowley’s hips and tapers down to a flared tail, curved gracefully over the edge of the tub. Where Crowley’s ankles should be.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale starts, a little awed. The shining grey skin against the white porcelain of their bathtub is an oddly entrancing sight.

“I just wanted to try it!” Crowley sounds defensive. Hair curls around her shoulders and clings in wet strands enticingly over her chest. She looks at Aziraphale like she wants to eat her. Aziraphale wonders if Crowley’s bottom half is a shark or a dolphin. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Crowley’s look is predatory, which is fitting for a mermaid. Or a siren.

“A mermaid?” Aziraphale’s mind can't quite grasp what she's seeing, but her body is already responding. She steps toward Crowley, some primordial instinct in her body clamoring. Or maybe that's just her heart beat.

Aziraphale’s hands itch with the familiar ache of wanting to touch Crowley. Physical intimacy between them is still so new, but Crowley has been reassuring during the whole process - and especially enthusiastic about Aziraphale’s hands. 

“It seemed fun?” Crowley deflates a little, losing some of the defensive posture now that Aziraphale hasn’t started with the scolding. 

“Is it not fun?” It looks fun. Aziraphale doesn’t want to force Crowley into anything, especially with a body that can’t get out of the bathtub. 

“It was at first. Right up until I realized that I couldn’t get out.” Crowley lifts her hands out of the tub and shows Aziraphale her pruney fingers. “Don’t think I’ve ever stayed in this long.” Aziraphale looks at them, consumed by the thought of what they’d feel like on her tongue. 

“Couldn't you change back whenever you wanted?” Aziraphale’s mouth says before her brain can catch up to her mouth. Of course she can. 

Crowley has the decency to look sheepish. “Of course I can.” Aziraphale touches Crowley’s jaw gently, tilting her face up. 

Aziraphale smiles at her and Crowley brings her hand up to touch Aziraphale’s face as well. She lets the tender moment hang, savoring the taste of it before she turns her face in Crowley’s hand and sucks her thumb into her mouth. She traces the unfamiliar, soft ridges with her tongue, looking searchingly at Crowley’s face all the while. 

Crowley takes a deep breath through her nose, chest rising and holds it. Aziraphale curls her tongue around Crowley’s thumb and sucks on it for a second before she lets it go. Crowley doesn’t pull her hand away completely, catching her thumb on Aziraphale’s bottom lip and dragging it away from her teeth before stroking it along the point of her chin. The sodden ridges of her thumb drag and catch in ways that make Aziraphale’s eyelashes flutter in desire. 

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale says, voice much lower than it was a minute ago. 

“Yes,” Crowley says, “please.” 

“You didn’t let me finish. I could have asked you for anything.” The rasp of Aziraphale’s voice makes this sound, at least to her own ears, much more serious than it was meant to be. 

Crowley tilts her head back, curving her hand around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and pulling her in. She takes a moment to breathe right up against Aziraphale’s mouth like she likes. “Yes, angel. Anything.” 

Crowley's wet fingers clutch in Aziraphale's hair. She can feel the tide shift before Crowley kisses her. The water recedes, leaving her shivering and weak to the heat of the mouth pressed against hers, the firebrand of her fingers stroking along the back of her neck. And then it crashes over her - a monsoon of heat flooding and pooling in unexpected places. She can feel it in her fingertips, hot and demanding, up her arms and into her shoulders. The heat demands to be met, to share and be shared, so she reaches for Crowley.

Aziraphale smooths her hands over Crowley’s shoulders, pressing her back against the tile and sloshing water over Aziraphale’s sensible tweed skirt and white blouse. Aziraphale follows the line of Crowley’s chest down, curving her palms over the small swell of Crowley’s chest. Crowley pushes up into it, so Aziraphale drags her fingers over the pebbling points of Crowley’s nipples. She rolls one between her fingers just to hear Crowley gasp. She swallows the sound of Crowley’s ragged breathing, licking the matching taste of desire out of Crowley's mouth.

Every taste she gets of Crowley makes her greedy. It’s enough and too much and not enough all at once. Aziraphale isn't used to it - 6000 years of waiting and denying and yearning culminate in this: a tender kiss in a bathtub. 

Crowley trembles, the shaking of her body sloshing water in the tub. Aziraphale's arms are wet up to her elbows, there’s water splashed across her stomach and lap. Her clothes are clinging and obscene, but Aziraphale doesn't care. Mentally, she shrugs. Who would ask for propriety in their own bathroom? 

She pushes her hands down into the water, following the slight curve of Crowley’s waist until the skin beneath her fingertips transitions into the smooth, rubbery skin of the tail. Crowley moans and thrashes, sloshing more water out of the tub and onto Aziraphale and the floor. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale begins. The water cooling in her clothing is a stark contrast to the heat of her body beneath them. “What do you want?” Crowley tips her head back, gaze coy. Her hair clings to her shoulders in strands but the bulk of it falls behind her and trails in the water. 

Crowley touches Aziraphale’s arm where the water is seeping up her sleeve. Her eyes are half-lidded- the face of a once wild creature basking in affection and begging for more. “Mmmm,” she hums. She stretches luxuriously, arms pushing up past the edge of the tub and almost knocking into the wall behind the it. Water drips onto the tile and runs in rivulets down her arms. Aziraphale follows the trails with her eyes and imagines doing it with her mouth. She doesn’t, waiting patiently for Crowley to go on. 

“Wash my hair for me.” Crowley smiles the half smile of the utterly content. Her tail twitches, her shoulders relaxed and only slightly tilted towards Aziraphale. 

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale says, trying to convey both exasperation and unending fondness. Crowley hums and wiggles a little, making waves in the bathwater. “Any bath salts today?”

“Hmmm, no thank you. I’m not entirely sure how well it’d go with…” she pauses, and gestures down, “you know.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agrees easily. She leans forward and kisses Crowley on the nose, moving to stand. Crowley halts her progress, pressing her mouth to Aziraphale’s. It’s a quick, chaste thing, but Aziraphale still wants to keep going when it’s over. She presses a kiss to the apple of Crowley’s cheek instead, moving behind the tub. Crowley wiggles down, pushing her tail farther out of the water, and submerging herself up to her shoulders. 

“Feels weird,” Crowley says. Aziraphale hums and cups water in one hand. She touches Crowley’s forehead with the other. Crowley tips her head back, used to this treatment as Aziraphale pours water over the top of her head. Crowley wouldn’t get water in her eyes if she didn’t expect to, but Aziraphale isn’t about to take that chance. She runs her fingers through it, massaging Crowley's scalp gently with her fingertips to make sure that it’s wet all the way through. 

When she’s satisfied, she reaches for the shampoo, the smell of it somehow reminding her of the sea. She pours some in her hand and swipes some with her fingers to massage into Crowley’s scalp at the crown, repeating the motion for each side down behind her ears, the back of her head, and the crown. Satisfied that there’s enough soap at the roots, Aziraphale drags her fingers through the length of Crowley’s hair, spreading suds to the ends. She piles Crowley’s hair on her head and scratches her scalp. The sound that Crowley makes is almost obscene, pushing up into Aziraphale’s fingers like a demanding cat. 

Aziraphale swipes her fingers down the back of Crowley’s neck, slicking suds off the skin there and skimming them into the water. Crowley shivers. “Come on, love, let’s get the shampoo washed out so we can get you out of the bath.”

At some point when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, Crowley had swapped her mermaid tail for her usual shapely legs, which were crossed on the edge of the tub. They are slick and shiny with moisture like the rest of her. Aziraphale is just as stricken by her legs as the rest of her - as she had been with the tail and fins. 

Aziraphale’s fingers tighten on the back of Crowley’s neck, a reassuring squeeze. “That’s it, love,” she says when Crowley tips her head back and dips her hair into the water. Aziraphale scoops a couple of palmfuls of water to rinse the suds from her hairline, finger-brushing the rest underwater to release the soap. “Good,” Aziraphale says, just to see Crowley soak up the praise. 

Crowley sits up a little, her legs sinking under the water, crossing her arms over her knees, and tilting her head to draped dramatically over her arms. Instead of rewarding her, Aziraphale touches her shoulder before turning to grab a towel from the shelf. She warms it with a miracle and holds her hand out to Crowley. 

“Ready?” she asks, holding her hand out to Crowley, palm upturned and expectant. 

Crowley stands, naked and resplendent, emerging from the tub like Venus from the sea foam. She takes Aziraphale's hand. 

"For the world." Crowley smiles.


End file.
